


you're gone but you're on my mind

by parkernoir



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, gwen and may and ben are already dead, harry and flash are only mentioned briefly but understand i would do horrible things for them, johnny is '''''''dead'''''''' (he's chillin in the negative zone), post negative zone, the death isn't written in, the petermj in this is platonic bc i am right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkernoir/pseuds/parkernoir
Summary: Peter has gotten really tired of going to funerals.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker/Gwen Stacy, Peter Parker/Johnny Storm
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	you're gone but you're on my mind

**Author's Note:**

> this one goes out to the spideytorch gc . fuck you

“I can’t go.” 

  
“What?”

  
“MJ, I can’t go.”

  
Mary Jane paused and stared into Peter’s eyes through his reflection in the mirror. Peter couldn’t tell if it was tears or the glass that made her eyes look glazed over. “You have to go, Pete,” she said gently, and turned him around by the shoulders. 

She looked small. Smaller than usual. Not that MJ was small, just-   
  


It felt like Peter had to look a long way down to meet her gaze. A long, long way down. So far he felt like he was falling. And falling and falling and-    


“Peter.” MJ brought him back down to Earth, and the impact wasn’t as violent as he expected. She tugged on his tie, pulling it tighter around his neck; Peter was almost surprised the fabric didn’t cut right through him. “I know it’s hard, but-”

  
  
“I don’t want to go.” Peter said, like a child that didn’t want to leave his friend's house, stomping his feet and refusing to go to the dentist. That’s what kids did, right? He thought so. Peter couldn’t remember much of anything lately. “I don’t have to go.”

  
  
That lie hung heavy in the air, pulling the corners of MJ’s mouth down with it. It had been a long time since he had seen her so sad, but it still felt too soon. Always too soon.. She fiddled with the collar of his shirt. Her voice shook ever so slightly. “It’s a funeral, Tiger.”

\--

“Why don’t you ever just ask me to fly you up here? You know, instead of taking the ferry every time?” Johnny asked through a mouthful of crappy taco. His cheeks bulged like a hamster, which somehow made him look even more stupid than usual. 

  
  
“It’s nice to play tourist sometimes,” Peter lied. He stared down at his feet, tracing the webbed pattern with his eyes absentmindedly. His legs dangled over the edge of Lady Liberty’s rusted crown. “See the sights, act like New York is magical, you know.” He said, instead of  _ being close to you makes my chest sink _ . 

  
  
“You’re weird.” Johnny said, and Peter knew a ‘I’m not saying what I mean to say’ face when he saw one. 

“Yeah, well, you’re hanging out with me, so what does that say about you?” Peter replied calmly, and stuffed, like, half of his burrito into his mouth. Maybe someday he’d be able to eat around Johnny with his mask completely off, instead of rolled halfway up to his nose. Like a reminder that they were close, but not  _ that  _ close.

  
  
“I need new friends. That’s what that says.” Johnny said, but he was smiling. Peter didn’t let himself stare too long, and he told himself it was because Johnny talking with his mouth full was gross. 

  
  
Peter Parker was pretty good at lying, but sometimes stuff slipped through the cracks.

  
  
\--

  
  
“I don’t think I fit in this anymore.” Peter tried, lifting his arms sluggishly as evidence. The action was taxing, and ultimately pointless, given MJ’s sad look. 

  
  
“It fits fine,” she said gently, pushing Peter’s arms back down to his sides. Oh. He hadn’t ever dropped them. “It wasn’t even that long ago you wore it- last.” Her breath had hitched in the middle of her sentence. It was clear she hadn’t meant to say that.

“I got taller.” Peter insisted.    


  
\--

  
  
“Oh, you’re getting so tall, Peter. It makes me so sad,” May cooed, ruffling up Peter’s hair as he ducked away from the doorframe. He groaned and tried to pat his hair back down normally.

  
  
“You knew I was gonna get taller. Why is it such a big deal?” Peter whined, pushing up his glasses pointedly. May rolled her eyes and caught the tape measure Ben tossed to her. 

  
  
“Because you’re not a little kid anymore. Kiddo.” Ben interjected, leaning against the opposite side of the kitchen door frame and smiling softly. 

  
  
“How tall am I?” Peter asked hesitantly, excitement prodding through his annoyance. 

“Six foot two,” May said, and Ben laughed. Peter pouted. “You’re five five. Almost taller than me, now.” May said, and she got that miserable look in her eyes again. 

“Yeah, but not as tall as Ben. And we’re related, so I feel a little cheated.” Peter said, crossing his arms dramatically. 

  
  
“You’ll get there, Pete,” Ben promised, messing up Peter’s already tousled hair. “You’ll get there.”

—

“Why are you even going?” Peter asked, voice sharper than it needed to be, sat on the edge of MJ’s bed, clutching the comforter like it was the only thing keeping him tangible. 

“Because I knew him,” MJ said after a moment’s hesitation. After another short silence, she added, “Because you’re gonna need me.” 

“Says who?” Peter grumbled, as fabric tore. He knew he needed her. He always needed her. 

MJ didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t look at Peter. Somehow, that felt more insulting than the true assumption she’d just made. 

—

It had been two months. At least, that’s what Peter’s phone said. The date displayed couldn’t possibly be real, right there on the blinding-bright screen. But there was no way two months had passed. 

It only felt like a day. 

His friends had helped him clear out Gwen’s apartment last month. Well, Mary Jane and Flash helped. Harry was still out of it from the overdose. And… Flash hadn’t stayed very long, anyways. His face was all squished up like he couldn’t breathe the entire time, and eventually he just ran out without an excuse. 

Correction: MJ had helped him clear out Gwen’s apartment last month. 

They’d put stuff into boxes. Stuff Gwen never told Peter about. Nothing significant, really, just a jacket Peter had never seen her wear, a book she never told Peter she’d read, and a sewing kit she’d never mentioned using. 

Peter took the jacket. 

It was yellow, and fleece, and seemed a little bit big for her.  _ Maybe that’s why she never wore it _ , Peter thought on the taxi ride home.  _ I bet she would’ve looked nice in it anyways,  _ he thought next, and that’s when he started to cry. 

“You can keep the change,” MJ said, and Peter was about to tearfully ask what she meant, but she pulled him out of the cab and onto the rain-covered sidewalk. Rainwater ran down Peter’s cheeks, sending chills down his back. It was nice feeling a shiver that didn’t mean imminent danger for once. “Come on. I just curled my hair and the rain’s gonna ruin it.” 

  
  
“Okay,” Peter said softly, clutching the jacket to his chest as they trudged up the stairs. 

  
  
After struggling a bit with Peter’s eternally jammed door handle, MJ pushed into Peter’s apartment and set her box of Gwen’s belongings down. MJ had taken a few photographs, a cardigan, and her headbands. Probably some other things, by how heavy the box seemed, but, to be honest, Peter hadn’t paid that much attention. 

  
  
It was only when she put a hand on his face that Peter realized he was still crying. 

“Pete,” she whispered, and Peter looked everywhere but her. 

  
  
“What?” He asked eventually.

  
  
“You gotta take your coat off. You’re gonna get sick.” She said. Her voice was stiff and choked-off. 

“Right.” Peter agreed, but didn’t move to take his jacket off. He was still hugging Gwen’s tightly to his chest. He wished he could push it straight into his heart and leave it there.

“You’re gonna be okay, Peter.” MJ said, but Peter didn’t want to hear it. 

  
  
She kept her elbow linked with Peter’s throughout the entire funeral.

\--

  
  


MJ’s phone went off at noon. They had a half hour to get to the funeral home and all Peter could think about was how Johnny would’ve demanded something much more extravagant.  _ I want flamethrowers, _ he’d say.  _ And firedancers. Hot ones. Pun intended.  _ And then Peter would’ve shot a web at Johnny’s mouth to get him to shut up for once in his goddamn life, but eventually give in and tear the webbing lose because he liked the sound of Johnny’s voice. 

At least Johnny knew about Peter Parker’s relationship with Spider-Man. That way he got to hear his name- his  _ real _ name- fall out of Johnny’s mouth while they travelled much too fast through the air, Johnny’s arms wrapped tight around Peter’s neck. 

“Peter.” MJ said, and Peter knew from her tone that this wasn’t the first time she’d said it. He offered a hum in acknowledgement, rebuttoning his sleeve. When had he unbuttoned that? “We gotta get going. It’s a Friday afternoon. It’s gonna be chaos out there, and I know damn well you aren’t swinging.” 

“I told you I’m not going.” Peter replied. It would’ve been calmly, but the way his voice trembled was a dead giveaway. 

MJ sat down on the bed next to him, and gently put her hand on top of his. “Peter-” She started, but he snapped his hand away before she could spit out stuff he’d  _ heard _ before. 

“I’m sick of going to funerals.” Peter said tersely, squeezing his fists around his knees. His head dipped down and hung there, eyes squeezed shut. Breathing wouldn’t come easy, even when MJ placed her recently rejected hand on his back. 

“I am too, Tiger.” She sympathized, but, like many times before, Peter didn’t want to hear it. 

“You don’t get it. He’s my-” Peter froze. Let out a bitter exhale. “He  _ was  _ my best friend.” He said, the earlier edge of his words dulled and softened into a pained whisper. 

The room fell quiet, except for the cracking and rattling of the apartment. Peter wished it would just cave in on itself already. His apartment with Harry had- why couldn’t this one get blown up too? Maybe take Peter with it. 

That would be a lot less painful than getting used to the past tense.

Peter brought his trembling hands up to the knot of his tie and slowly began to undo it. The grip grief held on his lungs loosened along with it. The fabric brushed against his palms, but he could barely feel it over the calluses on his skin. 

(He often considered his hands useless. Metaphorically. Or whatever- look, of course he  _ liked  _ having hands.  _ Not  _ having hands probably sucks! He just hated having hands that specifically seemed to be incapable of saving people.) 

(Or incapable of reaching out before it was too late.)

“I can’t go.” Peter insisted for the final time, stern and broken. 

  
  
“Okay, Tiger,” MJ’s words were quiet and sounded as if they should be said through gritted teeth. “You don’t have to go.” She wrapped her arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“You’ll stay here, right?” Peter pleaded, wiping at his eyes before they even considered to well up with tears. 

  
  
“I always do.”   
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
